Birth of A Hunter
by The Transient Wraith
Summary: In a clinic, deep within Central Yharnam, a hunter is granted her first taste of blood.


_Birth of A Hunter_

The woman laid on the operating table, limp and weak. "Whatever happens, you may think it all a mere bad dream," the old man had said to her. Her veins burned as Yharnam blood coursed through them.

A Yharnam ritual.

The little ones took a liking to her, to the warmth of her body, how smooth and unblemished her skin was. She was beautiful, after all. Few hunters had so willingly been taken by the little ones, given their blue wizened skin, eyeless faces, and morphed bodies. Like all else in the hellscape that Yharnam had become, they were abominations. Still, she didn't mind.

That damnable beast yet again encroached upon another vessel. The beast's fur was covered in blood, and yet, it panted as it crept up to the terrified woman, as if it had been starved of the red nectar. The little ones retreated from that side of the operating table, for fear of the beast's rage. It moved over to her in a slow gait, scratching and tearing the floorboards as it stalked her body. The moment the creature's claw touched the flesh of the woman, however, it erupted into flames and flailed its arms about in agony before melting into a pool of crimson.

O Flora, can you not see? A hunter has been borne into the world.

The hunter, with her muck and blood stained attire, rose from the operating table. The clinic was dark and in a state of disrepair. Floorboards were either missing or out of place, various vials and glasses were strewn about on the ground, and parts of the wall seemed to be eroded. The stench of blood was ever-present. Her steps were weak, as her she ached, and exhaustion plagued her body. She saw a note left on a chair just a few feet from her operating table. When the woman picked up the paper and set her gaze upon it, she fell ill. Her head roared with pain, enough pain to feel as if it was being ripped in two, her pulse grew more volatile, to the point that her heart nearly gave out, and her vision became blurred. The parchment held only one phrase; six words. Words scribbled so hastily, so uncaringly that many of the letters and words overlapped with one another, or seemed to be a mere smudge on the paper. Despite this, the phrase forever etched itself in the woman's mind.

Seek Paleblood to transcend the hunt.

Down the stairs to her left she could hear a noise: a snarl accompanied by a faint tearing sound, similar to a dog chewing its food. With nowhere else to go, she wandered cautiously limped down the stairs, each step shooting pain through her body. This pain is a transient one. The noise at the bottom of the stairs grew louder as she descended, and a sense of dread loomed over her. Tubes, operating tables, and bloodstained floorboards awaited her at the bottom of her flight. The heavy stench of blood permeated the air, causing her nostrils to flare, but not out of disgust. The stench didn't disgust her, oh quite the opposite. Her stomach growled, her throat turned dry, and her skin turned pale. She had always hated blood; its sight, its viscosity, its unbearable smell. But now…

An exit was at the end of the room. Light poured through the exit and filtered into the room. A soft blue from the world above. The source of the gnawing presented itself to her; beyond the field of tubes and operating tables, crouched over a corpse mutilated beyond all recognition was a great beast, not unlike the one from before. This one, however, was not drenched in blood, save for the bit that dribbled from its mouth as it tore the cadaver open again and again with its teeth.

There is only one exit from this building.

The hunter cautiously sidled across the far wall. The beast seemed preoccupied with his meal, and she figured that it wouldn't notice her. The smell of the crimson nectar was a powerful one, after all. So powerful that it clouded even her senses. A creature of the night would be so affixed on it that it wouldn't notice her, she reasoned. The stench of the blood was powerful indeed, so powerful in fact that it nearly drove the hunter mad when she merely a few feet from the pool of blood. In a craze that was quite foreign to her, the woman darted at the body, throwing caution to the wind. She'd have that blood, that cruel, beautiful Yharnam blood. The beast, of course, noticed her charge, and immediately turned to face her. The hunter came to her senses just before the beast clawed at her chest, spraying her blood over several of the tubes behind her. With a yelp, she reeled back a few steps before collapsing. Before she could react, the beast had already set upon her. As it was, no sane person could hear her screams as her insides were exposed to the harsh world. A cruel fate, though a kinder one than being driven mad by blood, or being enlightened by the Great Ones. Wouldn't you agree, Flora?

Wake up young one, for it is merely a nightmare.

The hunter was dead, and yet, she felt a cool breeze. She felt an uneven, but smooth surface beneath her cheek as she splayed out on the ground. Cobblestone. She felt her ruined clothes contort around her body. She awkwardly rose to her feet. A lone house atop a small hill stood before her, a small cottage of sorts. Around her, there were dozens of gravestones, four of which were lined up on the stone path that lead to the house. One grand looking, one rather shabby, another cracked and missing pieces, and the last broken and molded. She started on the path, hoping that someone was in that little cottage. The woman had hardly noticed the doll that sat perched on a nearby ledge. It startled her when she finally noticed it, as it was incredibly lifelike, with its eerily smooth-looking skin, its creamy eyes, and its short blonde hair beneath its cap. She could've sworn she saw its finger twitch.

Despite the eeriness of the doll, she continued (albeit more cautiously) up the hill to the cottage. She had died, and yet, this wasn't the Promised Land that the Healing Church had offered to its legions of followers. An ensemble of low groans disturbed her thoughts. From the cobblestone before her rose three of the little ones. The kind hunter, though perturbed by their sudden appearance, smiled at them and kneeled to greet them. The little ones moaned out of appreciation, for they were unused to such kindness. From the cobblestone, they each pulled a gift for the hunter: a bladed cane, a sawblade, and a large war axe. "Take one, good hunter, so that you may traverse the world uninhibited by madmen and monsters alike, and steal their blood," the little one holding the sawblade moaned. The hunter was taken aback. She wasn't dead. She could return to Yharnam, weapons in tow, and have blood yet again. She needed blood, and would have it. The hunter smiled and graciously accepted the axe from the little ones. They bowed to her before sinking back into the ground with happy little smiles. She looked further up the path; more little ones lied in wait, their frail bodies this time holding a blunderbuss and a small pistol. She chose the blunderbuss. Next to the entrance to the cottage, one last little one held a notebook. "Leave messages in this book to remind yourself of what lies ahead should you meet an untimely demise," it said to her as it offered her the notebook. After thanking the little one, she knocked on the door to the cottage. She was still confused, and needed answers. No one greeted her. More little ones marked their presence with groans, this time by the first gravestone on the path, the grand one. She approached the gravestone and read the engraved text. _Awaken, hunter of the Dream, for the night of the hunt is long, and dusk fast approaches._ The hunter grew tired, and just before she blacked out, felt her body slouch over the little ones.

The hunter, once again, opened her eyes in the clinic. However, she found herself kneeling next to little ones, who wrapped themselves around an odd purple lantern. "A link to the Dream. Scattered about the world, they are," the little ones told the confused hunter. A familiar gnawing sound sparked fear within the hunter. She was back in the clinic, back where she had met her violent end. She quietly crept down the stairs to face her murderer, who sat there, still tearing at the same hunk of meat. Visions of her death clouded the hunter's mind, and fear took her over. She would have ran back to the Dream once more had the stench of the blood not hit her nostrils. A hunter starved of blood was no better than the beasts they hunted. She let out a guttural roar, again alerting the beast to her presence. She charged at it, brandishing the axe in both of her hands, again driven mad by the blood. She swung at her quarry with all her might, tearing open its skin and leaving a large gash in its shoulder. The beast growled, and pawed at her. Though it was crippled by the new orifice in its body, the beast's strike was powerful enough to dislodge the axe from its fracture and send it and the hunter tumbling over several of the operating tables. The hunter felt nothing, as the adrenaline and lust of blood made her numb. The beast pressed its advantage, and leaped at her as she was on the ground. The hunter shot to her feet, and evaded the beast's attack. She swiped again at its left leg, severing the limb. The beast fell to its feet, and scrambled to recover. It tore up floorboards, sent threw operating tables about the room, and dislodged many tubes in its vain effort. The hunter lifted the axe above her head for the final blow, and brought it down on its skull, easily shattering its thick skull and spraying its brains about the room.

The hunter immediately kneeled to scoop up her prize and partake of the beast's blood. Once the blood touched her lips, however, it burned. It seared her throat, nearly making her choke.

As does the tainted blood of the abominations that stalk the streets of Yharnam.

She tore herself from the corpse of the beast in disgust, and instead looked toward the body of the dead man. She tore over to its corpse and knelt beside it. She'd been deprived of blood, and would have any, even the blood of another man. She drank her fill of the sweet nectar, allowing the sweet viscous nectar to warm her insides. No longer was the woman starved of blood, but she would need more. There were several vials in the room that hadn't been broken during the fight. She took them, and proceeded to fill them with the blood of the man. She'd need more, but she could procure it in the world above. Yharnam was a wretched and cruel place, and its inhabitants were no better. She didn't mind cutting down a few madmen for their blood. The hunter rose to her feet and ascended the stairs. Moonlight shot on her face as she finally exited the clinic and made her way to the world above. She needed blood, and there was much blood to be had in the ruined city.

O Flora, by moonlight, will you guide the good hunter, as you had done with the previous Hunters of the Dream? Guide them, see them safe through this night, lest you lose another servant.


End file.
